


His City

by AntaresofJuly



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Implied one-sided Joker/Batman, Rated T for mindfuck/brainwash, undertone Joker/Harley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/pseuds/AntaresofJuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Batman was captured by the Joker and Harley Quinn, everything went wrong. A psychological thriller.</p><p>This is a translation of my six-chapter Chinese fanfiction. Pardon my English if there are some grammar glitches. And feel free to point them out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His city got walls

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [[蝙蝠侠同人]他的城 His City](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2289551) by [AntaresofJuly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresofJuly/pseuds/AntaresofJuly). 



Bruce.

Human's body and mind tend to be in equilibrium. The more you exert control on something, the worse it is when the control breaks, and in the end, it always breaks. You should remember: the more you resist something, the more vulnerable to it you become. The only way to conquer this inevitability is through acceptance, just like that a dam full of water would easily collapse by the slight breach of a single ant hole, while if a constant river keeps flowing away, such breakdowns would be less likely.

Remember, Bruce, don't resist. Accept.

 

But he never really learned.

 

\----------------

 

Batman sat up with a gasp, but didn't quite succeed.

He was forced to a stop, back arching a few inches off the surface. He frowned. He was not lying on the ground, but was put on and fully bounded to a large metal table, an incandescent lamp glaring down onto him. The memory of what led to this situation came back the instance his eyes adjusted to the blazing white lights: he was chasing the Joker, a sharp pain on the back of head before he blacked-out... And suddenly, he realized, with a start, a female voice was humming not far away at the very moment.

_London bridge is falling down*._

The Batman turned his head to observe his current circumstance as best as he could under the restraints, to where the humming was coming from. There Harley Quinn was, her back to him. She was working on something undetectable from this angle. Batman noticed that Quinn was dressed in an oversized mock of a nurse uniform.

_Iron bars will bend and break.*_

He assessed the situation as best as he could. This place looked like one of the abandoned warehouses scattered around old town. His cowl was still on, good. His belt was removed and nowhere to be seen, not so good. Joker was not in the room, or he could be hiding behind the piled cargo boxes.

He opened the claws of his glove to cut the ropes. Better finish this before Harley realized he had regained consciousness.

"Nah-ah!" Harley shook one finger while walking towards him, the other hand holding a tray. She berated, "Naughty, Batsy! Just woke up and already up to trouble!" She stepped into the light, and he could see now, the tray was supporting a blue injector.

"Harley," He demanded, "untie the ropes."

Harley covered her mouth, a string of screechy giggles escaped, and batted her larger icy-blue eyes at him, "Interesting, every time, you have to say something like that, as if, I'd ever listen to you! Why don't you try wiggle yourself free heh?" Her idle hand poked at his cheek, "well it's a waste of energy anyway. These ropes are specially made. Won't break under an hour or two's cutting. "

"Harley," Batman asked calmly, "tell me where the Joker is, and what he is up to this time."

Harley tilted her head to one side, and looked at him with a strange glint in her eyes, "Why you! Of course you, Batsy. Mr J is alwayz focusing on you! Poor little Harley has to fight for even a tinny tiny bit of attention." The corners of her mouth turned downwards. She looked almost piteous, but Batman was not one to be easily fooled by what was on the surface.

Harleen Quinzel was an extremely dangerous psychopath.

"But this time Mr. J has gave Harley a very important mission! That means little Pudding trusts little Harley after all! If I do a pretty job, Mr. J will be sooooo pleased!"

Batman tensed up, "what job?"

Harley didn't answer, but started bustling again. She set the tray on a small round table.

"Hey Batsy, do you know how people got overdosed?" She chattered casually while trying to figure out how to dissect his gauntlet. "There was this cruel guy named Siegel, who kept a box of mice in captivity, and treated the poor littler things with a dose of Heroin everyday. So gradually the little fellows developed a tolerance to it. Then nasty old Siegel changed them a new house. Guess what?"

Batman's jaw tightened at the utterance of 'Heroin.'

Harley had taken off the left gauntlet. "They Died!" She exclaimed joyfully, and swiftly cut the kevlar on his arm open, then sanitized the exposed skin with a mock professionalism. "Poor little rodents, their drug resistance has risen initially high enough to deal with the dose. Too bad the environmental cue was removed. Consequently, their anticipatory compensation reaction failed, oh, that means their bodies didn't prepare to opposite the effect of the drug. So they overdosed." She straightened up her body, and squished some of the liquid from the injector to remove bubbles, and grinned. "Relax, Batsy, this baby's no Heroin, just some boring old mixture of morphine and Valium. Mr. J wants you to behave before he comes back. Won't do if I break you already, will it? Pudding would totally explode!" She pouted, a flash of jealousy passed her face.

Batman released a breath. He wasn't trained to resist Heroin, it would be futile, but morphine and most tranquilizers, if she was expecting him to have a failure of tolerance under strange environment, she better think again. His bio-feedback training had began early in his years, which ensured that the compensation reaction would not be fully dependent on the unreliable and capricious environmental trigger. His mind was in close to total control of his body.

He was ready for it.

Harley snapped a tight plastic band on his arm, "considering that you must have some tolerance training, I'm going to give you twice the normal dosage." She pushed the substance into his vein, "now, let's see how the mighty Batman hold up."

 

 

*Note:  
The lyrics Harley was humming: London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London bridge is falling down, my fair lady! Iron bars will bend and break, bend an break...


	2. Sometimes they crumbled down

Double dosage, Batman thought, he could handle that.

Concentrate, Bruce. Morphine, Valium, maybe some other CNS Depressants. If they wanted him dead it should have been done already. No need to go through all the trouble just to kill him with poison.

He kept his breathing steady, waiting for the upcoming obtusion, disorientation and drowsiness, but strangely... There was nothing

Until the dam broke.

He heard a piercing scream, water flowing into his nasal cavity, and realized, it's him. But why...

The Pain.

His mind went blank.

Too Much.

How... This wasn't right... God, the Siegel experiment... Hold on, Bruce...

Another shot.

No...

The screaming, howling, continued for an indefinable amount of time, then he began to recognize a woman's voice, her voice too sharp, it stabbed him in the head, folding another layer on top of the already existing layers of headache caused by the everlasting agony.

Bruce had never knew, the pure sense of pain was like white lightening, and so excruciatingly layered.

"Stop," his mind was in turmoil, his voice too harsh to be heard.

Harley tilted her ear to the convulsing bundle of darkness, "Sorry dear, what is that you just said? I couldn't hear ya."

"Placebo."

She switched the electricity on once again, and watched with satisfaction as reflexive fluid seeped out under the black mask. "How does it feel to have yah nociceptors ignited by electric fire hah little Bat? It must hurt like a bitch! I guess you haven't been hurt this much for a very looooong time, have yah? Over the years your nerve system must have adjusted to the level of injuries you regularly received, and Pah, sensitivity level to pain dropped to the valley! Thought to yourself that you have conquered the physical pain did you? Ah, you boys!"

Wrong, not this much, never this much.

Bio-feed... Couldn't establish coherent thought, couldn't...

Another shock, and Batman let out a lacerating wail.

Harley giggled a series of unpleasant laughs, "it's always about you, Batsy." She picked up a tweezer, stabbed it under one of his fingernails, "ALWAYS about you." She turned up the current and connected it, then watched as the Batman writhed and racked his hands wanly in the restraints, no longer even capable of giving a proper cry. "But you are real bright, you know? That's right, no kidding, I did give you the placebo. But alas, what good can this piece of knowledge possibly do for you, now that your overly reinforced compensation reactions are already all over the place. Am I correct Batsy?"

Batman was not able to reply, his attention cut into shreds by hot, white slices of pain too many times sharper than what was normal.

Morphing reduces pain; Valium depresses central nerve system; Batman's body had began to prepare to counter these exact effects the moment his brain calculated what was going to happen, and his bio-feedback training had only intensified such reactions. His CNS activity and level of sensitivity had accordingly risen to peak.

Dark Knight had once reined the realm of pain. The physical pain sometimes even served as a diversion, temporarily releasing his soul from the countless burdens he willingly carried.

But now, he couldn't even pass out.

"No... please... stop," he whispered without a sound, without moving his lips, dragged back over the edge of consciousness again and again and again. Numb tears streamed down his cheeks, pooling in the curve of his neck, his brain filled with white noises of pains and desolation.

"What are you doing?" A sharp, oily voiced appeared out of nowhere.

It's the Joker's voice. A faint surge of hope suddenly flooded the Bat's befuddled mind, "Joker..."

"Mr. J!" Harley shrieked, almost jumped into the air, "you're back early!"

The Joker didn't reply, his expression darkly cloudy. He went straight to the operation table, and inspected a few seconds for himself. Then he turned off the switch.

Batman breathed deeply a few times, then slowly turned his head as he regained his mind, to looked vaguely at Joker's direction, eyes tired and unfocusing, his vision still clouded by a film of blurry whiteness. "Joker," he said hoarsely, nauseous at the hint of consolation in his own voice.

"Hey, Pudding, don't be angry! I was just having a teeny-tiny, little bitah fun with our guest." Harley staggered a step back, hold out two fingers to show just how tiny that was.

Joke slapped her hard. She swirled a 360, and fell endearingly down on the ground. "How many times do I have to tell yah? Only! I! get to play with the Bat! Only I! Understood?"

"Ye..Yes, Mista J!" Harley sobbed, holding one swollen cheek, and batted her large eyes at the Joker.

Ah love, or Stockholm, Batman thought fuzzily. Multiple muscles in his body still convulsing, his brain felt like a row trucks had just run over it.

"Shush, little Bat, "A bony hand stroked his forehead through the mask twice, some trivial noises. "It'll be very soon."

Then sharp pain penetrated his left arm.

Sweet darkness.


	3. Exposed to the tender eyes

Batman woke up in Crime Alley.

The memory of the pains had faded, but a long time shouldn't have passed since his black-out. His body was still numb. He shook his head a little. His mask was still on, and the belt was back.

Must be the Joker, he thought, but why did he do that? Perhaps he was still trying to mess with his mind, just like... saving him from Harley.

"But you know, Batsy," Joker's voice suddenly rose behind him, greasy and affectionate, "how can I stand letting someone else torment you? And not put in a hand meself!"

Batman instantly jumped back, only to find nothing but the ink-black alley behind him.

"Joker! Where are you. Come out!" Batman checked every possible hiding place. He was sure the voice was just behind him a moment ago.

But no, nothing.

The Bat stood silently for a while, before checking his cowl and uniform for any hidden speaker, but found none.

"Don't bother," Joker's voice sounded bored, still behind him, somewhere to the left. He signed, "I can't BELIEVE you haven't figured it out yet! I'm IN YOUR BRAIN, Batsy! We are happily thereafter for all eternity!"

"No!" Batman said, and pushed his back to the wall, in case the clown suddenly decided to jumped out from some god-forbidden angle.

"Tut, tut, aways trying to take command. Really, that's quite unhealthy. Get rid of that burden of control, Bats, and join me! You know you want to!"

If the Joker was not right here right now, he must be watching him remotely. He reached down to retrieve the RF detector, only to find the pouch void.

  
He opened all parts of his belt, totally empty.

Crime Alley was eerily silent, save for some scarce chirping of evening bugs.

The Batman narrowed his eyes, standing here was a waste of time, "No matter what you are playing at, Joker, I will get you."

"Oh Mine!" The voice exclaimed, "Are you leaving now? You gonna ditch me so soon? Who's the one that cried piteously for my help back then? Huh? Twice indeed! "

Batman's steps didn't stop at those words, but only he himself knew, his breath hatched for a moment.

“Don't be shy now, Batsy. We both knew, you wanted me to save you, didn't yah? You knew I'd save you."

Batman's ice-cold stare swept around the area, "Shut up." His voice low and dangerous, full of barely contained rage, promising violence and cruelty. Only fools and mad men would dare to to ignore its warning.

But deep down he knew, that it was true. In his pain he had called out to the Joker. He beseeched his worst enemy for desperate help, because he knew, unadmittingly, he would get it.

Because of the madly dilating pupils each time he looked at him.

It frightened him, for the warmth it brought.

Apparently, in his temporary weakness, he had let the Joker into his city, albeit just a little bit.

Undeniable. Unacceptable.

Batman strode out of the Crime Alley, running toward the nearest supply spot. He couldn't risk exposing the cave by returning home under possible surveillance.

But there was nothing.

And it was impossible.

He heard his heartbeats thumping his eardrums. Out of habit he tried to suppressed it by bio-feedback technic, but he hesitated.

He had checked this spot merely one week before, yet now, there was only regular, dirty, old cement, no sign of ground ever been dug open.

Impossible.

"What's wrong, Bats? Trouble with the memory? Hallucination? Ah-ha! I always knew it! You are even nuttier than you look!"

Batman almost jumped with a start. This time the voice was too close. "Get out!" He instantly bellowed, ripping his cape off with unnecessary viciousness, but the Joker was still laughing next to his ear. He snaked a finger beneath the cowl, frantically searching the hair behind.

But nothing.

"Admit it, Batsy, you've finally lost it. Now we are truely two of a kind.

"Besides, you've wanted this long enough haven't you? What did the doctors say? Ahhhh, in your subconscious, deep!

"Deep down, you want to get rid of the burden, the sense of control. You want to be free, like me."

"These are false," Batman abruptly said, his posture frozen. He raised his head to look around the Gothem in midnight, "None of these is real."

The Joker was still jabbering on, but Batman paid him no attention. He tapped the ear on his cowl, "Oracle," he called, "emergency. Please respond immediately."

Of course no one replied.

He checked the emitter and microphone. Everything should work fine.

Batman's lips quirked up.

"I don't know how you did this, Joker, maybe some experimental device, maybe some drug, but a piece of advice: Oracle's always reachable." Joker quieted down. Batman ejected a grapple line, pulled himself up to the top of a nearby building.

"By the way, your schizophrenia simulation is hideous. " he smirked. "I'd give you a D for trying."

After that, the Bat extended his arms, and jumped off the rooftop.

 

The sensation of free falling was unparalleled.

 

Being shaken back to reality, however, was disorienting.

Batman fought back the reeling in his stomach, and swiftly unlocked the cuffs on his wrists. He caught in the corner of his eyes of Harley fleeing out of a door, screeching, while Joker grinned at him, "it's not over yet, Batsy! See you soon!" Then he disappeared through the same door.

He hopped off the giant machine he was tied on, rushed to the door, but it was locked. Batman took a step back, and kicked hard once, twice, and three times. It took more than he expected. Clearly his physical condition was worse than he thought.

Outside the door was a busy restaurant.

The bustling staff and customers quieted down at the sight of him. A woman gave out a scream. Some people scrambled out through the front. A few got under the table. He thought he vaguely heard someone asking, "WHO THE FUCK LET THAT LUNATIC OUT?!"

Batman always knew he was not popular, but he didn't know it was to this extent.

He grabbed a waiter, "where did the Joker go? And Harley?"

"Pppleeeass dddon't hurt me!" The waiter begged in panic.

Batman loosened his grape on the collar a little, "a green haired man, and a woman in pink nurse uniform, tell me where they went!"

"I donno! I donno! I swear!" The waiter quivered.

Batman set him down, went out of the entrance, and blinked under the stinging sunlights. Then he realized, something was different.

It was the same familiar streets, with the same buildings, Wayne Tower still looking down the entire view of Gothem in the center of the city.

But the atmosphere was subtly different from his memory.

It was the expressions on people's faces.

No longer tainted with years and years of Gotham-brand weariness and alert; no longer accompanied by hysterical laughters and nervous yellings, Batman thought longingly, they looked... normal.

"Er... Hello?" He turned around, and saw a large wan parked nearby, several white-coated paramedics watched him warily and curiously. "Are you the Batman, sir?"

Bruce thoughtfully eyed the speaker, and realized he had met him in Arkham before, an intern, Jeremy Snow if memory held.

"Yes, I am." He said.

"Umm..." The young man looked a bit nervous, as if debating whether to extend his hand or not. "Jeremy Snow. I know you are a hero." Bruce scowled, but didn't interrupt him. "This is... sort of hard to explain, because perhaps you had forgotten again... Gosh... This is my first real shift and you are my childhood hero!" He coughed. "See, you can call me Jeremy. Could you come back to Arkham with me first? It would be much easier to explain when we're back."

"You'd better explain now." Batman demanded calmly.

"Oh!" Jeremy threw a quick glance to his waist, no utility belt there. The other white-coats had already formed a circle around them. They looked sturdy. Bruce kind of regretted not having his grapple gun. His current body strength and speed, by estimation, might not be enough to deal with all of them at once.

"Nice costume by the way. So here is the thing... this morning, two inmates left the facility without permission... One of them was the Joker."

"He just run out of there." Batman calmly continued.

"No worries," Jeremy said, "We've found him. Poor soul, after all he'd went through ever since Harley died...oh, sorry... shouldn't discuss it here."

Batman was genuinely surprised, "You said Harley died?" Sympathy passed through Jeremy's face. He said softly, "Didn't you remember? Dr. Harleen Quinzel has passed away five years ago, killed by the Joker himself."

Batman grunted with suppressed laughter, "That's some creativity. Who came up with this idea? You or Harley?"

But no one, in his head or not, replied this time. Bruce regretted again about the absent grapple gun, or he could try the old trick right now.

"What... Who are you talking to?" Jeremy looked more cautious now. Bruce noticed he appeared older then the last time he saw him.

"Where is the Joker?" He asked. Jeremy pointed at the van.

Batman walked over. Someone opened the thick metallic door. He saw the Joker inside, in all his strait-jacket ,ankle cuffs glory, crouching in a paddled corner and grinning at him, green eyes shining with an abnormal glint.

He didn't seemed to change much. Then again, with that face there was really no tell.

Batman turned his head. Jeremy retrieved a step.

"And I'm the other one, is it?"

Jeremy nodded apologetically.

"You, and everything here, are all an illusion." He simply declared.

Someone whistled. There was already a horde of gawkers gathered around them. Some were pointing at Bruce with discrete chattering and laughters. The other white-coats were about to move, but Jeremy stopped them with a hand. His expression became surprised and amused. He said tenderly, "if so, sir, why don't you just come with us? It doesn't matter anyway if it's all an illusion, right?"

"What is my name then?" Bruce asked, "if what you represent is real, then you should know my identity."

"Of course I know, Mr. Batman, but I can't say it here." He looked back at the crowd.

"So my identity is still a secret, how convenient," Batman commented humorously, "what if I say I don't care?"

"But I do." Jeremy said solemnly, "I can't expose you and your family to such danger."

Batman went silent.

"Fine," he finally conceded, "I'll go with you."


	4. In the shambles he dragged alone

He couldn't take the risk.

That was what he was thinking. No matter how slim the chances were that this was real, he couldn't risk exposing the others' identities.

Jeremy seemed friendly enough, but there was no tell what he would do if he resisted.

Let along resisting wasn't exactly wise right now.

 

They reached Arkham shortly afterwards. Arkham hadn't changed much, to his relief.

"Jeremy, I'd like to talk to you." He said.

Jeremy seemed happy, "of course, of course," he immediately responded, "but let's finish these checks first... Your doctor's supposed to be Dr. Strange, but he's on vacation as it happens. I think he wouldn't mind..."

Batman waited, then was taken into a office. The tag on the door was new, reading " Jeremy Snow, MD." Jeremy sent the guards away without putting on any additional security measure, unless you counted his pen and notepad as such.

He arched an eyebrow at the doctor.

"Oh, you were marked as unsafe to society upon admission, but you've never attacked any employee here, and the escape this time wasn't even your fault to begin with. So we think there's really no need to make you uncomfortable." He paused, "And you're a hero. There's that."

Batman didn't say anything. He observed the office: lit by the afternoon sun through a window, it looked unfairly serene.

"Let me hear your theory." He finally said.

Jeremy seemed a little sad, but he adjusted his expression immediately, "You like us to call you Batman, so I'd try to always do that, though it feels odd not to add a 'sir' somewhere. Anyhow. Here's it. You are experiencing an episode of Anterograde Amnesia right now. Its mechanism is still not completely reveled to us, but your hippocampus and some surrounding cortices were damaged in the incident five years ago. I think that might be the main reason that caused it.

"Five years ago, Joker and Harley Quinn stole an experimental virtual reality generating machine that was still in the developmental stage from Arkham. The main function of that machine was to read brain waves and generate simulated hallucinations of exceedingly detailed nature. Because of its advanced algorithm, the virtual reality it generated was almost undistinguishable from the real world. The two somehow captured you, firstly put you through some very serious physical torture, and then used the machine to perform a series of experiments on you... Even without the accidental cerebral injury caused by the machine later, these torture and experiments themselves were already enough to cause severe trauma to any person.

"But the machine was not stable. According to Joker's recount of the event, when the accident happened Harley was operating it. Naturally he thought Harley killed you, because you stopped breathing at the time... He killed her in a burst of rage.

"But later it was found out, you merely went into a stage of profound shock, with vital signs becoming extremely slow, undetectable even. Because of the instability and volatility of the VR machine, its malfunction was violent and random. I believe Dr. Quinzel wasn't intensionally trying for murder. It's just they had used it non-stop for too long, almost a week.

"Till today we still haven't figured out how this all happened. There were too many conditional variables, the drug, malnutrition, psychological shock, and most importantly, not enough data was left after the malfunctioning... But all in all, ever since then, you..." Jeremy seemed unable to go on. So Batman helped him.

"I went mad." He said, ignoring the rising knot of fear mercilessly pressed down in his stomach.

"...to put it crudely, yes," Jeremy looked at him and said, "but as one of my professors used to say, everyone was a bit crazy."

Batman found the corner of his lips curved, despite the situation now.

"Anyway, now is much better. In the beginning you couldn't remember what happened one day before, and you also had problems with your working memory, but through treatment, your working memory recovered fine. You really have a marvelously resilient brain. For two years now everyday life no longer posts any trouble to you, but the deeper problem was still here.

"Before today, you've already had a few relapses. At times, you would suddenly forget everything that happened after the VR machine incident. Your memory always returned to there, that event. We suspect it was the combined effect of both psychological and physiological traumas." Jeremy paused there for a second, "Your case is unique. The machine was the first of its kind in development, and the memory loss was only the main problem. You also have some accompanying symptoms. It's very complicated. As thus the possibility of curing it all is not in our favor. But I have faith in you."

He paused to smile at this, "Even if your condition would not be fully cured, it's not so bad. Just before this relapse, you had said that you liked the life here. If not for the fact that I just got transferred into this division, we would have become acquainted already, oh, only if you'd like that of course."

Batman hurried to say before he could mention 'hero' again, "Thanks for your time, doctor. I hope I could still come to talk to you later."

"Of course!" Jeremy said, "Come as you wish, I mean, if you have anything to discuss."

Batman smiled at him, and let the guard take him back to 'his room."

 

He waited two days, then requested to speak with the Joker.

It took another three days the approval. So now he was sitting in an excessively cushioned room. Everything even remotely hard had been taken away.

That included the pointy ears on his mask, which was replaced by soft ones.

Joker was crouching unmovingly in the corner, his straight-jacket still on, but without the cuffs. That's why there were so many escapes, Batman thought.

He walked in front of the Joker and crouched down, "Joker," he said.

Joker raised his head to look at him, and immediately went ecstatic. Batman tried not to notice his enlarged pupils and hastened breaths.

Jokers squirmed in his straight-jacket, "Batsy! I knew you'd visit! We are old friends, aren't we? You and I!"

Batman watched the Joker carefully, "What do you want to prove through this?"

"We are in for it together now, walala!"Joker just kept going on, as if he didn't hear Batman at all. "Look, we belong to this place. Isn't it joyful! Arkham the one big family!" His giggled at his own words.

"Joker!" Batman took his shoulder and shook him, "Don't play dumb. Answer my question!"

Joker seemed to finally 'heard' him, "Oh, Darlin, it's wrong of us to run away before! Those people outside, sunshine, streets, such happiness, such boredom! Those don't belong with us. You and me, we belong here. This is our city!" He shuffled towards Batman, as if trying to hug him using his shoulders. Batman pushed him away.

"You killed Harley?" He decided to try a different strategy.

Joker went completely still. He recoiled back into the corner. "I killed Harlie." He buried his face in his knees."How could I do that?"

He seemed genuinely upset. It could be pretended but Batman had always thought Joker was not as nonchalant about Harley as he let himself think, though it didn't prevent him from killing her.

The Joker suddenly launched at his collar. Devil knew when he'd wiggled himself free.

Batman push him away again but Joker relaunched at him, this time with a bullpen in his fist, trying to stab it into his jugular area. Batman didn't know how he'd sneaked that one in, but this was Joker.

He struggled just to hold Joker's wrists back, now that their physique difference was not so prominent. "Kill me! kill me!" Joker yelled furtively into his ear while trying to rip his neck open. He just could pull that off. "Only you can do it, Bats! Kill me! Before they cut my brain!"

Guards and orderlies started to swarm in. Joker nearly slashed open one of the guard's neck. Batman blocked it with his arm.

He was holding his bleeding arm while Joker was being forcefully dragged out of the room by the guards, kicking and clawing, laughing maniacally.

Batman had never saw Joker cry. He thought it was impossible, but he might have seen a glint when they were turning around the corner.

"Is it true?" He asked a guard that was standing around. "Are they really going to lobotomize him?"

The guard shrugged, "court's decision. Should have done it long time ago if you ask me. It's good for everyone. And to be honest, I've had enough of dealing with those nutjobs' whims every other day." He grumbled rolling his aching shoulder, and turned to batman. "Thanks, by the way! You are a real hero saving my life like that! Even if you went a bit strange in the brain you still are!"

Batman didn't respond, he looked at the direction where Joker had disappeared into for a while, thoughtful, and then walked back to his own room.

 

The very night, he pushed the emergency button in his room. An orderly showed up. "I need to see Dr. Snow." He said. "I must talk with him about what happened today."

Jeremy wore his white coat outside his pajamas. He looked less than 50% awake.

"Why the lobotomy?" He asked.

Jeremy scratched his head, "I too find it not very humane, but it was the court's decision."

"I remembered the laws of Jersey didn't permit it."

"A lot of things changed in these five years, Batman," Jeremy handed him a glass of water, "I know it's hard to take in, but... ever since you retired, the psychiatric crime rate has climbed rapidly. I think people finally had enough. There was a public vote for a changing of the law, and it just passed a year ago."

"Is Gothem better?" Batman asked.

"If you mean the murder rate, it is a bit better than before." Jeremy admitted softly.

Batman looked outside the iron-barred window. "I'm sorry," he said.

"What for?" Jeremy asked.

The next moment he fell limp into the chair.

Batman rearranged him into a more comfortable position, and took the ID card and the door-pass outside the pocket, also a key to the file cabinet.

Out of curiosity, he opened the file cabinet, pulled out his folder, and leafed through the various diagnoses.

It seemed there were several different diagnoses by different doctors. Cerebral damage, Anterograde amnesia, Schizophrenia, PTSD, GAD, PDD, OCPD, Personality disorder not otherwise specified…

Batman quirked his lips humorlessly, and flipped to the page on schizophrenia: complicated hallucinations, various kinds of nonbizarre delusions, absence of pleasure, dissociation, alogia... He let the papers hit the floor.

It was simple after that.

Even supposedly after five years, Arkham was still using the same prototype of basic defense system he personally upgraded.

 

Bruce was standing on the tip of a tower's spire. The evening breeze was as refreshing as each time he paused on a gargoyle during patrols. The alarms were ringing, and he still hadn't got a grappler.

But it all didn't matter now. Not to what he was going to do.

He listed in his mind all the evidence for whether this was real or not once again, and still found no rational way to conclude.

But all this must be false, he thought, however tempting, or bleak, it might seem.

Gothem would heal one day, but before that day came, he must not indulge in illusions.

He must wake up.

Ignoring all the doubts in his heart, he took a deep breath, and dived.

.

.

.

 


	5. Even if he escaped

Darkness.

Ony darkness.

Is he dead?

More importantly, everything that happened before, was it fake or real?

He felt a fit of desperation.

For the first time since all of this began, Bruce felt the slight tingling of panick.

Calm down, he told himself. Keep your head level.

In total darkness, time and distance lost their meaning. He couldn't decide how long it had passed, or if he had moved at all.

But he was still breathing.

He couldn't feel his limbs. However, with years of training enhancing his body-awareness, he was at least sure that breathing he was still. That meant he was alive, although perhaps still in Joker and Harley's grip.

Connect to your senses. You can do it. You are the Batman.

He started to meditate. 

First the hearing. Connect with the sound...

"...Batman..."

From a distance.

".....wake up, hey, wakey wakey.... Batman!" Nightwing's voice.

Bruce opened his eyes abruptly. White lights pouring down from above. It took a few seconds to realize he had regained consciousness.

Was this real, or was he still in a bad dream?

He looked around, there was barely any space for his neck to move, and found himself in a room resembling some factory warehouse. The room where Harley had tortured him. He remembered through the fog in his brain, eyes blinking owlishly.

"Nightwing?" He called out tentatively, and found his throat far too raw to speak properly, rusty from too long underuse. 

He held back the urge to cough, struggled out of the ropes as fast he could. The blades on his gloves seemed to work fine this time. He stumbled off the table, almost fell onto the knees, visions blurry.

Nightwing howled him up, "you scared me old man! Lucky that Joker wasn't too keen on covering his trails. Think you can walk by yourself?"

Batman nodded. Nightwing gingerly let go of him, "I'm going to check outside." He disappeared out of the door.

Bruce looked at the door, his vision still not clear, breathes rugged.

"We have to get out of here quickly. What are you waiting for? Hurry up!" Nightwing's figure flicked across the doorway briefly, gone in a blink.

Batman harried to follow, rather unstable on his feet. When he reached the dimly lit corridor, however, there was no one there.

"Maybe he's already rounded the corner. Dick's always fast. " Bruce thought to himself.

He got around the corner as quick as he could, but still, there was no one in sight. The same with the next corner. Then the next.

He did not try to stop his pulse from picking up this time.

Batman dragged his weakened body alone through the shadowy passages for a long time, but nowhere could he found a glimpse of Nightwing.

"So, Bat old boy is having a hallucination." A bored voiced announced.

"Joker!" Batman startled, pushing his back against a wall for the sudden surge of dizziness. Result of days of starvation, he automatically analyzed, which also included impairement of the mind.

"Relax, Batsy, I am only in your head."

Batman felt around his cowl to examine it, though any proper enthusiasm was absent.

"Stop the pretense already, will ya? You know what this is. More than 60% of nutjobs had experienced hallucinations* sometime in their life. "The voice giggled. "The most common form of such an underrated joy is simply hearing voices. But of course, you are always exceptional. Even your hallucinations are funkier than average."

Unsurprisingly nothing was found yet again, Batman decided to ignore the voice. The priority now was to find a way out of this place, though it proved to be much harder than it should be.

"Tell me how you felt, Batsy! When you jumped off that building!"

Joker's voice continued to whisper into his ears.

"We are in your own mind. No need to lie to yourself huh? Tell me what do you feel in that exact moment, each time you jumped off the roof. Did you feel free? Were you scared? Or were you... Excited?"

Excitement.

Batman ground his teeth. He shouldn't respond to that voice, whether out loud or internally. He could not afford to think about what they could represent. Focus, instead, on what's important: finding the damn exit.

"Ha, I knew, I knew. Suicidal instinct. But not wish." The Joker cheered smugly. 

"You knew what I think? I think you died a little bit every time you jumped, every time you closed your eyes to sleep. Every dive is a small death. This is the truth of this sorry world."

His breath could not help but be hitched a little. Still, he kept his focus. These corridors formed a circle. It was damp. Mechanical sounds inside the walls.

"But you and me, Batsy, we are different. We are ferocious. We are made of tougher materials." Joker said victoriously, with a sharp and absolute confidence that could easily make a normal person's blood curdle. Batman could almost picture him extending his deceptively thin arms, in his peculiar histrionic style. He had seen it far too many times. "You and me, we are two of a kind."

He knew the Joker better than anyone did.

But could the same be said about himself?

"Traitor!" Batman startled, turning back. And saw Jason.

Or more precisely, a mirage of Jason.

The boy was still clad in the bloodied, smoke-blackened, dirty uniform. His body twisted unnaturally all over, the effect of too many broken bones.

Just like that day.

"Why didn't you come to save me?" Jason accused at him, an agonizing, injured sound. His broken ribs tented his cloth; his arms and legs shook with unsteadiness and rage, while stark white bone shards prostrating out of broken flesh and skin. "Why did you let me die? Why didn't you avenge me?"

"Jason..." Batman whispered, felt his inside smelted, the same part that broke again and again each day, every time the same memory flashed back. He wanted to steady the swaying young man, but Jason staggered away the instance he raised his hand, crashing to the ground.

"I hate you! Batman! You gave me up for your stupid principles." Jason pointed at him, eyes glinstering maddeningly; blood seeped down from under the cracked mask. "Your rules, ha, more important than me, than any of us, than EVERYONE. You sacrificed others, children, for your own crusade, in the name of of Justice. But you know what? You are nothing but a cruel, self-serving hypocrite! It's you who should have died!"

Batman froze on spot, one hand still slightly extended. He watched in abject horror, powerless, as Jason's phantom collapsed into a pile of dusty yellowish bones, then completely disappeared.

He took a deep, shaking breath, then firmly moved his foot. He had to get out of this place.

This was the third time around. It had to be underground. He still couldn't find any entrance/exit. The first room where he woke up was stuffed with card boxes and a single metal table, and almost nothing else. He groped along the stone walls as he walked by, hoping to find a seem, a hologram projector, anything. The only things he found were some hidden cameras.

He destroyed them out of venting.

"Do not engage in fruitless actions. You are wasting your strength." Tim reprimanded calmly.

Bruce didn't look back, but he stopped his destruction.

"you know, people always say we have a similar thought pattern," Tim's monotonic voice was strangely devoid of emotion, "but I never want to become like you."

Of course, Bruce thought, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.

They had reached that understanding long ago.

They said Tim was the one resembling him most. It might be so. But he could always discern the sober pity in the boy's gaze. That was something they didn't need to speak out loud, but both knew.

This time though, the false Robin decided to state the truth.

"I think you should know this, Bruce. You are radioactive. You bring misfortune to yourself and those around you."

Bruce was still facing the wall. He was silent. The voice behind him fell silent as well. Eventually, he twisted his lips humorlessly. "Would that be all?" He wondered out loud. "Now we just need Nightwing to finish it off."

"Nightwing?" The voice chucked, "Nightwing would not come back. He's got tired of you long ago. I'm surprised. Don't you know this already Batman?

"Everyone you touch will disappear.

"Just like this."

It was ill-adviced. Still, Bruce couldn't help but look back.

Just in time to see Tim extending a gentle finger, taped his shoulder once, then dissolved into a puff of mist.

He move forward robotically, and ignored anything else with sheer will.

"Tut tut," Joker's voice followed him, "look at those ungrateful whelps! They are quite right, aren't they?"

"Always grasping for control, aren't you? But you can no more stop every bad thing from happening than you can stop me from beating bird boy into actual pulp, hehe, or shooting that little redhead right through the spine for that matter! Or any other random mayhem that occurred in this absurd, twaddling world. So why do you even try?

"I guess you had a very bad day, some long time ago, it changed you in the deepest level of who you are, but you refused the change. You refused to acknowledge the universal absurdity, with your insipid and fragile illusion of control."

Batman had stopped his course at some point during the speech. The voice let out a mocking screech of laughers.

"You've lost it already, long ago. Ha. You think you have a life? Nay, nay, Bat, you have nothing!

"Whatever you have now, you will lose it one day. Any day. So why so serious? Give me a smile!"

"Shut. Up." Bruce bit out.

"Oh don't be such a bore, Batsy! Tell me then. Why didn't you go back to check inside that door we rushed out of when you had the chance? You know, before you got dragged to sweet Arkham? Even I know if things were real there shouldn't be no dream machine in there.

"But you know the answer, don't you? You don't really want to wake up.

"Admit it, Bat, deep down inside, you want to be like me. You want to forget everything, every last bit of pain. You want to be free."

"No, I don't." Batman cut him off. "I refuse."

With a sudden thought, Batman pressed around the base of his ears, and finally smiled victoriously.

He went back to the room, picked up a sharp piece of broken glass from the tray, and cut through the skin behind his ears. He remove a pair of bean-sized devices.

Finally, there was quietness.

He still need to get out.

Nevertheless, without any explosives and tools, with the only connection to the outside... He raised his head slowly, and stared at one of the hidden cameras he hadn't taken out.

If he stopped playing alone, this game would not be able to continue, and Joker wouldn't let him die so easily. It would not satisfy him. So stop playing he would be.

Batman carried the piece of glass to the camera.

"If your goal is to strip me off any hope," he looked into the camera and said quietly, "you've succeeded, but I won't give you any more entertainment."

Batman stabbed the glass into his chest. "This is my farewell. I hope I'm finally rid of you."

With that, he crashed the camera.

The wound was real, but he avoided anything vital. Lost of blood made him dizzy. He was taking a risk. Batman felt he had waited forever, until finally, some mechanics sound, a sequence of footsteps, and the pale and lanky figure entered the room through a hidden door on the wall. The door closed and locked immediately after him.

Joker observed the scene suspiciously for a moment, than rushed to his "dying" nemesis with a snarl on his face.

Seizing the precious opportunity, Batman punced at the Joker with all he had got. With one heavy hit he knocked the clown out solid.

He dragged the clown out into the corridor, where he found another working camera, the shard of glass still tightly clutched.

He looked straight into the lens, and pressed the glass on the unnaturally bleached skin on Joker's cheek. He pressed hard enough to draw blood. He waited.

In a few minutes, he heard the faint sound of the hidden door unlocking.

When he reached the control room, Harley was already gone. Doesn't matter, he would get her later. He tied up Joker securely and called the police with his reclaimed communication device. When he finally emerged from his personal prison, he nearly wept for the diluted, bleak sunlights pouring down from the polluted sky of Gotham City.

Had he really woken up this time?


End file.
